District 8
by rach3ella
Summary: This is the story of Airdura Dimity, the tribute from District 8 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. Though her journey is brief, I felt that her story deserved to be told.
1. Chapter 1

All breath is knocked out of my lungs and my knees begin to tremble.

"Airdura Dimity." His deep voice seems unfitting to form the soft syllables of my name. I feel my feet march forward but I have no idea what could possibly be making them move. My eyes are trained to the cold stone that forms the town square, hypnotized by its unnaturally smooth surface. One, two, three steps I climb to meet the representative for our District, Boulder Tracks on the stage in front of our Justice building. I jump at the large hand that claps onto my right shoulder. What I assume to be a playful laugh escapes the diaphragm of the large man, but it sounds more like a small round of bombs echoing through the crowd.

"And now for the gentleman." He continues, leaving an icy patch upon my shoulder as his massive hand pulls away. His over-sized feet pound against the fragile linoleum tile that makes up the stage as he makes his way to the glass sphere filled with the names of the boys aged 12 to 18. After a moment of rustling through the slips of paper, Boulder holds up the slip containing the name of the next victim in the 74th annual Hunger Games.

"Baize Holland." I dare to raise my eyes to the crowd, searching for the male tribute to step up and meet his fate along side me. I scan the large sea of kids standing perfectly still, facing me with mixed expressions on their faces. Some hint at relief, that they are safe for one more year, others trying hard to hide their fear for the ones that they love, wanting desperately to be standing by their sides once more. And a select few, like the ones of my mother and father, are trembling in their stance, muffled sobs escaping from their lungs at the sight of their only baby girl standing on that stage. I blink hard against my oncoming tears, determined to appear strong, or rather, not a complete disaster, for the cameras. Luckily, I have the boy to temporarily distract me from the tears as he climbs the stairs opposite me and assumes his position facing the crowd with the hardest look I've ever seen. His dark brown eyes piercing the cameras just a head of us, his brows furrowed so tightly together you would think he had a uni-brow. His jaw is locked firmly and through the light fabric of his dress shirt, you can see that his muscles are flexed completely in response to his tightly clenched hands. At a good six feet, it would be hard to rule him out as anything other than a true threat to the other tributes. It is clear that despite the fact that Boulder towers over Baize by at least a foot in height and is twice his size in muscle, he is hesitant to place his hand upon Baize's shoulder. Nevertheless, he does and beckons me towards him and Baize. Once we meet in the center of the stage, Boulder invites the two of us to shake hands and then follow him into the Justice building. As Baize and I grab hands, I'm overcome with a tingling sensation running from my palms to my fingertips. I suppose he's failed to realize the strength of his grasp, but it is his eyes that frighten me most of all. His intensifying stare does not soften upon meeting mine, which still threaten to leak with tears of fear at any moment. After our stiff shake, Boulder leads us into the dark cool atmosphere of the Justice building where we prepare to say our final good-byes.


	2. Chapter 2

District 8- Girl Tribute

"When your family comes in, you have three minutes." Boulder instructs from the doorway. I am in a tiny room covered in crystalline white and polished end tables, walls and even the floor. I take a seat at the very edge of a plastic covered white sofa shivering at the cool touch through my fine off-white dress. I fiddle with the edge of the dress, noticing a lose thread at the end of a hem. I frown as I twirl my fingers through the lose strand of my damaged handiwork. Though I had spent the past sixteen years sewing the Peacekeepers uniforms together to complete perfection, it was always the work I did on my own clothes that always reflected my lack of experience. I was no where near ready to make the high-end fashions required by the Capitols harsh demands. Here in District 8, it was your ultimate goal in life to help design and create the extravagant clothes of the Capitol. If you were really talented and intelligent, you even had the chance to move out of here and into the Capitol itself, working only with the best designers in all of Panem. But I suppose I'll never get that chance. Before I have time to dwell on it, Boulder pokes his head through the door to announce the arrival of my parents. I quickly stand up from the couch to smooth out my ruffled dress. The second my parents stepped through the door, we suffocate ourselves in each other's embrace, allowing our tears to stain our handmade dress clothes. After about a minute of breaking down, we draw apart slightly, still holding on to one another's trembling hands. Though I had only needed the tessera twice in my existence, it was still more times than the majority of the kids in District 8. Therefore, it wasn't so impossible that I had gotten picked, in fact, it was almost anticipated. A couple of weeks before the Reaping took place every year, I would lie awake in terror at the sound of my name being called from the glass sphere. I had even imagined what I would say to my parents at this exact moment. I had had a whole speech planned out, timed out exactly for the amount of time we were given. I had planned to stay strong and appear calm and collected to make it easier on my parents. But now, as I look into the fallen, tear-stained faces of my beloved parents, all that I had planned to say erased completely from my mind. The only words my dry mouth formed were the three words that I now regret never saying enough.

"I love you." I choked. More tears leak from the corners of my eyes and I can see some forming in my mother's as well. She squeezes my hand and looks me straight in my eyes.

"We love you too honey, we always have and we always will." She whispers. My father slides his hand from mine to my shoulder, in the shadow of where Boulder's had been also looking into my eyes.

"Listen to me; no matter what they throw at you in that arena, you stay strong. Whatever you do, don't go down without a fight, don't let them break you. Understand?" I nodded. My father was never good with words so I was speechless at the power and conviction in his voice. Before I could think of anything else to say, the three of us jump as Boulder's voice brakes the atmosphere,

"Time to go." He announces. We hug each other one last time and my mom and dad follow Boulder out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

District 8 – Girl Tribute

Knowing no one else will be coming in to see me, I take a moment to collect myself. I know I won't have a lot of time before Boulder takes me to the car but I can't stop a few tears from sliding down my cheeks. I wipe them away just as son as there is a quiet knock at the door. I lift my chin high, determined to look stern for the cameras when Bonnie slips through the door. Her dark brown eyes lock in with mine and her untamed red hair falls into her face.

"Hi." She says. I am so distracted by her very presence here and now that I am at a loss for words. Before she even gives me time to respond, she's standing inches from my face and grabs my shoulders, her wild eyes trained on my own.

"Airdura, it's going to happen. You cannot win, whatever you do, do not harm the girl on fire. She's our only hope!" she practically begs. Bonnie has always been the freak from District 8. No one really talked to her because of these types of outrageous outbursts. In school, she would often have to be escorted to the nurse because of her disrupting class and nobody being able to calm her down. Her antics tended to be about her "visions of the future," which happened pretty often. I never thought much of it, seeing as most of her "predictions" never made any sense and never seemed relevant to anything. But right now, I seriously thought that this was some kind of serious mental problem. She had never even spoken two words to me before and now, here she was, in the last few minutes of my time in District 8 telling me that I should die for some girl I've never heard of.

"Bonnie, what are you doing here? What are you talking about?" I demanded. This was a waste of my time. I was already unstable from my last encounter with my parents and now crazy Bonnie was here trying to mess with my head even more. I seriously consider calling for help when she squeezes my shoulders and pulls me towards her even more to the point where our noses are practically touching.

"Light the fire. Light the fire Airdura." She whispers. We both jump at Boulder's entrance.

"Light it, LIGHT IT!" Bonnie screams as she's pulled from me by Boulder's strong grasp.


	4. Chapter 4

District 8- Girl Tribute

With my head still spinning with questions for Bonnie, I am led into the car that takes Baize and I to the train. Once we take our seats in the elegant dinning car of our train, Boulder announces that Cecilia, our mentor, will be with us in a moment. The car door glides shut and the quiets hum of the train fills our ears. But mine are clouded with Bonnie's words as well. _Light the fire. Light it, light it._ None of what she said made any sense at all. Why would she tell me to die? Most people who come to visit the tributes tend to say encouraging things like, "you'll make it" or "you'll be home before you know it," right? Why would Bonnie feel the need to tell me about this "girl on fire?" As I notice the boy sitting across me, I wonder if Bonnie had visited him too. I'm tempted to ask when I realize that I don't even know him. Chances are that if I asked, he would deny it or not say anything at all. His stance is still hard though it softened a bit now that the cameras are off. His chocolate brown eyes are focused on the polished mahogany table in front of him as though seeing something completely different. But I need to know if she's seen him and if he understood anything of what she had been saying to me. I decide to at least introduce myself when the car door opens. Baize and I turn around to face our mentor.

I've seen her before on TV and briefly caught glimpses of her around the district. She mostly keeps to herself and her three young kids; all of which are not far from qualifying for The Hunger Games. From what I've seen, she was always very natural looking and beautiful. But here, in the privacy of the dinning car, it's clear that it was just make-up. Though she is still gorgeous in my mind, her faint wrinkles seem to be permanently adjusted into a frown. The bags under her eyes suggest that she hasn't slept well in weeks and her brown eyes seem to be looking into a fearful world as they zoom in on us. She tucks a loose strand of caramel colored hair behind her ear and straightens her posture. She takes a seat next to me at the table and folds her hands on the surface. Baize and I exchange a glance, both of us not sure of what to say or who should say it. Just as Baize parts his lips, Cecilia looks us both in the eye.

"Names." It's not a question. Baize drops his hard stature the second the last phoneme leaves Cecilia's lips. I take this opportunity to make myself seem more confident and announce my name, mimicking Cecilia's flat tone. She looks to Baize who does the same thing.

"Alright, as you know, our district is very limited to any common knowledge about survival skills. So, when you start training, don't go straight for the swords and knives. Learn as much as you can about the wilderness like which plants and berries are edible, how to set traps and how to make a decent fire. It may not be very exciting but these basic skills could mean the difference between life and death." Cecilia fills us in on a load of information about the games for the rest of the day. Even as we ate our dinner and deserts, she informed us on everything from how to get sponsors, which types of edible plants she knew about and how to play up the cameras. She was on such a roll and seemed to have everything timed out that Baize and I rarely got the chance to interrupt her to ask questions. As overwhelming as it all seemed I'm grateful that she believes in us enough to tell us everything she knows about the games. Outside the pristine glass windows of the speeding train, the sun begins to set pouring golden light into the dining car. When Cecilia finally pauses, she looks over Baize and myself for the first time.

"I can see that I've overwhelmed you two. I apologize if I seem a bit…intense. I just want you to know exactly what you're going into. Nobody realizes what really goes on behind the screen and I don't want you to be caught off guard." She says calmly.

"We'll stop here for tonight. Don't spend a lot of time out here, you two need your rest. We'll go over your strengths in the morning." She bids us a stiff good night and exits the dining car. Baize and I sit in silence for a moment, each of us staring into the table trying to remember the key points that Cecilia mentioned.

"Wow," I startle at the nearly inaudible whisper that escapes the lips of the boy sitting across from me. Unsure if he had meant to say that aloud, I decide not to respond. The sun has nearly sunk entirely behind the hills tinting the car from a brilliant gold to a deep orange. We both start as the lights automatically flicker on throughout the car.

"We should probably get to bed." Baize suggests. I nod and the two of us bid each other good night and make our way to our rooms. Once I've lingered under the warm shower for a while, I finish cleaning myself off and tie my long dark hair into a sloppy bun. As I throw on a soft pair of cotton pants and shirt, my mind starts exploding with everything that I've been through today. I've barely had time to process the conversations with Bonnie and Cecilia when the realization that I will never see my parents again flushes out everything else. It instantly feels like years since I've seen them and I ache for the comfort of my mother's warm embrace. I wrap my arms around myself and sink to the floor beside my bed, allowing my sobs to break through like a broken dam. All of my fear and regression for my mother's arms trembles through me for what seems like hours. But I can't stop. Every time I close my eyes, the darkness of my lids projects the faces of my parents combined with horrific death scenes from past Hunger Games. A boulder smashed through my brain, a spear through my chest, a knife across my throat. All the imaginary pain has me gasping for air tears of pure terror flood through my lids and stain my face. Soon, they all combine into a single chant of thoughts that repeatedly pulse through my ears: _I am going to die. I will never see my parents again. I am going to die. I will never see my parents again. _


	5. Chapter 5

District 8- Girl Tribute

When I finally open my eyes, I notice a bright light streaming in through my window. I squint against the brightness and feel the stiffness in my muscles as I sit up on the floor. I stretch my arms above me and roll my neck, feeling the relief in the cracks that come from my bones. My head is throbbing against the intensity of the sunlight and I rise a little too quickly from my fetal position and fumble aimlessly towards the window to shut the blinds. The sharp tingling in my leg threatens to topple me over as I make my way to the bathroom. I take a moment to walk it off and then brace myself for the mess I'm sure to find in the mirror. Sure enough, my light blue eyes are bloodshot and puffy. My cheeks are stiff with the tracks of my tears and my hair is sticking out in too many places to try and manage. I yank out the hair tie, strip down and jump in the shower. I completely scrub myself down and cover myself in the assortment of lotions provided, determined to erase all evidence of weakness. Once I tie my hair into a high ponytail, I head over to the drawers and pick out the fiercest outfit I can find. It's a fitted black t-shirt and equally fitted blue jeans. Simple, but the way that the darkness brings out my eyes makes me realize that I should learn from Baize and somehow incorporate his glare into my own look. I take a few moments to play around with my eyes in the mirror. I finally settle on a stare that suggests that I'm powerful but not too scary to approach; a somewhat alluring, mysterious gaze I would call it. I take a deep breath and head out to the dinning car for breakfast. Cecilia and Baize are already there, silently picking at their breakfasts. I suddenly feel my cheeks heating up from my delayed appearance. Cecilia is the first to look up at me and studies me carefully. I make a move towards the table but she holds up a hand and I stand my ground. She rises slowly from the chair and makes her way over to me, circling me over and over again. I suddenly feel self-conscious but try not to let this show on my face.

"You're slender, but not helpless. You'll need to build up some muscle though and eat as much as you can without over doing it." She assesses. Unsure of how to respond, I simply nod and make my way over to the table for some food. I pick up a roll and head for the butter.

"No!" Cecilia exclaims. I look up to her and shes replacing my roll with some whole grain toast and a small bowl of fruit.

"Healthy. Not fattening. Try to avoid desserts. Your new best friends are fruit, vegetables and anything whole grain, understand?" I nod again.

"Can you speak?"

"Yes." I answer defiantly, slightly taken aback by her tone.

"Good. Because today you'll be reciting everything you retained from me yesterday as well as adding in whatever you feel I should know." She responses, taking her own share of fruit and toast.

"What about him?" I ask.

"Him too. I just felt that we should wait for you to come so we can do this together. It's only fair. But be warned: once we wind down to the final days, I'll need to prepare you both separately. After all, you're still going to end up fighting each other." There it is; the inevitable truth of our fate. Apparently our mentor had no hope of us forming our own alliance. To be honest I haven't even thought about interacting with the other tributes, other than the fact that one of them will probably take my life. And yet, here we both sit, two pawns in the brutal games, gaining insight to each other's strengths and weaknesses. It seems odd though that one of us might end up killing the other. I never gave much thought to myself killing another person but with the anger blatantly spread across Baize's face, its obvious that he has. The two of us catch each other's eyes for a moment and then stare back at our food. It might have just been me, but I could have sworn there was a hint of remorse in his eyes, like he was apologizing for the death of me that he's already planned. My palms begin to sweat and I struggle to keep the knife steady as I spread some jam on my toast.

Cecelia lets us have breakfast in peace…for the most part. Every now and then she brought us back to yesterday and reiterated some of her more useful information. Baize and I remain quiet and merely nod at her to assure her that we're listening and keep our eyes on either our food or our mentor. Once we've scraped the last of what Cecilia deems healthy enough for us to eat, it's time to assess our strengths and find out what we need to work on.

"So, ladies first?" she suggests, leaning back in her chair. I roll my eyes, what a horrible rule of etiquette that is…in this case anyway.

"I don't have any strengths. Unless you count being able to make a fair Peacekeeper uniform." I say, also leaning back. This was pointless really. She saw how I unfit I am physically and coming from the textile district, she knows all to well that neither Baize or I know anything about how to use a weapon or how to hunt for our own food.

"Don't focus on that. What do you do besides work and school? What do you do with your friends, your family, anything and everything that occupies your time outside of the schedule?" She asks impatiently. Just like every other person in Panem, aside from those in the Capitol, free time is hard to come by. Anything I did outside of work or school was spent sewing my own clothes. But what good could that be? But then it hits me.

"Well, I'm pretty good with my hands."

"Explain."

"Anytime I'm not in the factory or at school, I'm usually at home working on sewing my own clothes." Cecilia's face brightens at this fact.

"Excellent! You're probably good at noticing small details as well, yes?" I begin to nod in agreement but then I reply with,

"Yeah, I'm always aiming for perfecting my stitches."

"Good, good! You'll pick up making traps and setting up snares pretty well. This will be extremely helpful when you're looking for food…you might even be able to take out a few tributes if you make one strong enough." My lips turn up in satisfaction; I might be able to defend myself after all.

"A careful eye is good to have in the arena. You're probably not the only one who will be able to set good traps though. Stay alert at all times." She informs me. This time I allow a nod and she seems satisfied.

"Alright Holland, what's your story? I can see that you're strong so that will benefit you right off the bat. But strength isn't everything." Baize fiddles with his fingers and avoids eye contact with any of us.

"I know how to use a sword pretty well." He says quietly. Cecilia and I both raise our eyebrows.

"How did you-?"

"I found an old pipe in one of the factories and started swinging it around a few hours a day. I picked up some tricks from what other tributes did on TV and thought it might come in handy in case I ever got picked." He explains.

"That's what I like to hear." Cecilia praises. She doesn't hide the smile spreading widely across her face. Whatever small ounce of confidence that my own strengths gave me was now completely erased. Not only was Baize radiating with hatred, he has experience with a perfect weapon to channel his anger onto innocent tributes. I sink into my seat while Cecelia and Baize go over what he's learned with his make-shift sword and some other skills he should pick up during training.


End file.
